


The Way Things Change

by ToxicBabes



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: Sometimes it's the other way around, and we all need a hand.
Relationships: Mike "Thatcher" Baker/Olivier "Lion" Flament
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	The Way Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> I had this sitting in my Google Docs for the longest time, mainly because my brain obsesses over numbers and word count so I was unsatisfied with the length of it. However, I didn't feel like there was any more to add to this, so here it is. 
> 
> Lion is an interesting character and has a lot of complex backstory to play with, I'm sort of dipping my toes into writing him as a character. 
> 
> This fic isn't particularly shippy, but it's up to yourself how you want to interpret it. I personally don't have any strong feelings for or against Thatcher/Lion, I think it's neat and all but not something I feel as passionate about compared to the meta ships in this fandom.

There were too many people. That was the first thought that crept into Olivier’s head as he sat under the shade of an oak tree, body planted in a rusty lawn chair and a can of bland beer palmed in his right hand. A wet ring of condensation was steadily blooming on his trouser leg and he had checked his watch perhaps twice within the last five minutes. Quarter past six. He promised Gilles he would stay for at least two hours, which meant he had to remain in Jordan’s backyard for another forty-five minutes or risk disappointing him.

In the heart of the summer, the sun cast the garden in a deep vermillion and dark shadows flickered on the swaying grass. For someone who spent most of his days in foreign countries, never more than a minute home, Jordan sure did invest a lot of money into curating his house to be his. Olivier found himself impressed for he couldn’t even commit to hanging a painting up in his rented apartment. He glanced around once again and found his eyes caught on the small drinking game taking place. 

The rest of the French squad were gathered around a table, a giddy Julien egging on Gustave and Emmanuelle to do more shots. It was usual for Olivier to be cast aside. It wasn’t as if he made much effort to be included. 

An odd feeling stirred inside his chest when he heard the bellows of laughter. The sight of Gustave smiling and his god-awful laughter was so foreign that Olivier couldn’t help but stare out of morbid curiosity, trying to figure out what on earth could make a wound-up guy like him relax for once. Their eyes met. It was just like that, within that instance the warmth in Gustave had disappeared and a coldness settled in his gaze. Oliver looked away fast, almost as if he flinched and his eyes sought somewhere else to occupy himself for the time being.

“Right… you see, I grew up on the dole. We didn’t have fancy electronics like you did, Mark. I spent most of my days when I was younger out with the lads, y’know, going down the street and having a drink. Sometimes getting into a few scraps,” James spoke, his accent thick as always and a mumbling drawl from the alcohol he drank. The sound of his monologuing brought Olivier back and he glanced over to the others sitting by him to see they were listening along. “Sometimes we would have a friend buy us ciggies, smoke ‘em by this abandoned house we used to hang out at. Those were the days, man.”

Mark looked around and his lips were curved into a smug yet gentle grin. “So you were a chav?” He asked with a brow raised. 

“Yeah, so what? Anyways, I’d have a smoke, think I was the shit then I’d go home in the evenings. Mum’ll be pissed I missed dinner, but she’ll warm it up for me anyways. Dad would get fucking furious at me when he smells smoke on me, shouts until the dog starts barking in the yard. Rinse and repeat all summer.”

The rebellious days of youth, something which Olivier was too familiar with. A fond smile grew on his face at his own memories of trying cigarettes for the first time, choking hard and drinking until he blacked out. While that led him down the slippery slope of where he was today, he couldn’t forget the fun he had back then. 

“What about you, Olivier? What’d you get up to when you were younger?” Erik spoke up as he flipped the burgers on the grill. “Something tells me a guy like you has interesting stories.”

Eyes were on him now. Olivier swallowed thickly, the film of bitterness from the beer rested on his tongue and his thoughts moved through his head like molasses. “Hm? Me?” He cleared his throat and found himself smiling. “Nothing good, I’ll tell you that.”

“Don’t tease us,” Jordan said with a chuckle and slid over a paper plate with a burger on it. He reached down and plucked a couple beers from the cooler, swiftly uncapped them and served them out onto the table. 

“I snuck out the house a lot to drink with my friends. Did illegal stuff, some graffiti, even started a band which didn’t last long. I was a shithead,” he answered and kept it short. The impression he already made wasn’t the best amongst everyone, he didn’t want to make it worse.

“Still are, cheeky wee git,” Mike broke in and there was a murmur of chuckles. Although looking towards him now, Olivier realised it wasn’t supposed to be an insult in any manner but rather proposed in an endearing way. He blinked back puzzled, wondering what he did to deserve such treatment. “Are you going to drink that beer or not, Flament? If not, give it here. It’s a shame to see good beer go to waste.”

The evening managed to slip by. Despite his initial thoughts that the barbecue would be a complete bore, he was somewhat invested into the conversation when Max told them about his adventures. It was clear that he wasn’t exactly friends with his colleagues, but everyone was cordial. It would be a shame to ruin such a great afternoon with drama, even Olivier didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. 

So as a result, he kept silent for the most part, occasionally laughed at a few jokes here and there. An hour had passed and he was struggling to finish his beer. The malty flavour left a bad taste in his mouth and he hated the weightless sensation inside. Although they kept coming and coming. When he finished one, James popped open another few and passed them to the others, including him, said it would be fine since they were all celebrating.

The lawn lights illuminated the garden in a gentle orange glow as the sky darkened. With everyone fed and their stomachs full of burgers and barbecued ribs, the Americans took their much-needed seats and enjoyed a cool beer, looking humble at the brief rounds of ‘thank you’s from the others. 

By now he had spent enough time socialising to justify his leave, enough so that Gilles wouldn’t get at him for being a hermit. The only thing Olivier gained from coming here was the knowledge that he still preferred being at home than going to a party. He glanced down at his watch, his brain halting for a second as he blinked absently and stared at the dial in mild confusion.

Five thunderous explosions rang out.

The smiles on everyone’s faces diminished. A silence collapsed upon every conversation, heads spun and some nearly jumped out of their seats. Everyone was tensed, hands gripping their beers tighter, eyes darting anxiously and brows furrowed upwards in concern. Olivier found himself at unease and swallowed his tightened throat.

“It’s alright guys, just a couple of fireworks!” Miles called out and pointed towards the distance. For the glimmering lights in the sky, they sure did sound much louder than they look. “Nothing to worry about.”

Conversations began to pick up again. James returned to his drunken rambles, albeit slightly quieter and the other men at the table listened along, sipping at their drinks to calm themselves and forget their initial thoughts. Olivier found his eyes trailing to Mike. 

Arms crossed, brows still furrowed and clearly not tuned in. His lips pressed into a thin line and his fingers fidgeted with the loose thread on his sweater sleeve. At the sound of more fireworks popping and crackling, he stood abruptly and picked up the stacked plates. Everyone stopped momentarily but quickly returned to their discussion. However for Olivier, he sensed something was off.

Minutes later, he stood up as well and managed to slip away without much attention. He trailed across the lawn and entered the house to find it mostly empty. The clattering of plates echoed from the kitchen then water hissed as it ran from the tap. Olivier followed the noise until he found Mike there, both hands planted on the counter and his body almost hunched, head bowed down. His shoulders rose as he sucked in a deep breath, shuddered as he exhaled and tried to control his breaths. 

Was it wrong to keep watching him? Olivier cleared his throat to announce his presence and took a step closer.

“What?” Mike croaked, his voice strained tight like a string pulled taut. He merely glanced over his shoulder to look back at him then returned to staring down at his grimaced reflection. 

“Just came to uh… check on you,” Olivier said, struggling to find a way with his words and he had no idea where to put his hands, whether in his pockets or by his side so he slumped awkwardly against the fridge and watched.

Mike’s body shuddered with laughter, chest rising to suck in deeper breaths but all he could muster was short wheezing. “Like you care,” he muttered back then shut his eyes. Through gritted teeth he managed to say, “I’m fine. I don’t need you checking on me like I’m some old man that needs to be coddled.”

“You are an old man,” Olivier quipped back, earning a smile. He noted the pallid tint to Mike’s skin, the beginnings of sweat forming on his wrinkled forehead. “You don’t look too good. You should take a seat, Baker.”

Mike stumbled on his feet and grasped for the countertop to stabilise himself. His breaths were laboured and he flinched at the rapid-fire pop of fireworks going off once more. “Just- feeling a bit off- I’m fine,  _ really _ ,” he insisted. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

Despite his protests, Olivier took hold of his arm and supported his weight. He guided Mike to the living room and sat him down on the sofa. While his instincts told him that this was likely a textbook panic attack, part of him was concerned it was something else. 

It was quiet for a few minutes. Mike was still struggling with his breaths, unable to stop hyperventilating. His own memories strangled him, consumed him whole and between his hiccups for oxygen he squeezed out a few tears, hidden in the palms of his calloused hands. 

“Would you like me to get Gustave?” Olivier asked, keeping his voice low and soft. He noted where the box of tissues was.

Mike couldn’t respond but managed to shake his head. His fingers tangled into his short cropped hair and his shoulders rose and sank with great intensity, knuckles were a bony white from how he clawed into his scalp.

It felt wrong to sit there and watch it happen, but there wasn’t much he could do. Olivier got up and paced back to the kitchen. He found a clean glass and filled it with cold water then brought it back. 

“Here, some water,” he spoke and set it down on the coffee table. Sitting closer to him now, he put a hand on his back and rubbed gentle circles. “You’re going to be alright, Mike. You’re in Jordan’s house, we were having a barbecue. Those sounds were just fireworks. You are safe, alright?” 

It was almost surreal to see a strong man like Mike break down. This was the same guy who would have his head screwed on the right way when things were falling apart, the one to respond immediately to a friendly being injured and his boys automatically looked towards him for help when it came to life advice. While it was expected that Mike would have a plethora of demons from his extensive career, the last thing Olivier thought would phase him were fireworks.

“I k-know-“ Mike managed to say between shuddering inhales. “I don’t know- what’s fucking wrong with me-“ he grew frustrated at his inability to speak. “I’m never like this. My head’s fucked today.”

He took the glass and slugged it down. His hands were trembling and he clenched them into tight fists, desperately fighting for control over his body. Knuckles blanched white, the contours of veins were visible from his arms to his forehead. 

Olivier offered him a sympathetic look then glanced towards the glass doors where he could see everyone. They were still out there, unaware of what was happening inside. “We all have our off days,” he murmured, hoping to reassure him. 

“Need to get a g-grip on myself,” Mike went on to mutter between his clenched teeth, voice strained and nearly warbled. “Fuck, it feels like I’m dying.”

“Yeah, the sensation can be horrible, but I assure you that everything’s alright.” Olivier remembered the box of tissues and pushed it towards him, leaving it a few inches away just so he knew it was there. He was never too great with consoling others, but he tried his best. “Take the time you need. I’ll stay with you.”

The lights from the garden bled into the darkness of the living room, a harsh shade of orange. The entire house was still, empty and silent apart from them. Every now and again Mike let out a sigh or a sniffle but as the minutes passed he seemed to be able to control his breaths better. Although that didn’t mean he was ready to return to the garden, Olivier knew it never was that simple. 

There wasn’t much to say and sometimes, silence was much better than forced conversation. The company of someone was enough. Mike rubbed his eyes then looked towards him.

“Do you feel better now?” Olivier asked, his tone sincere. “I can get you some more water if you’d like.”

Mike shook his head and the corners of his lips twitched upwards into a small smile. “No, I’m grand but thank you,” he said. He broke their eye contact and seemed aloof. “I know we aren’t exactly friends but I appreciate the gesture, mate.”

Embarrassed for a moment, Olivier returned with a simper in response and looked elsewhere. “Anytime.” He nodded. “We all have our bad days.”

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


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